


Tell Me Where to Begin

by GotTheSilver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: He’s not really aware of it, is the thing.  Not until.  Well.  Chris knows how it looks, he’s not an idiot.  Sitting on someone’s lap, anyone’s lap, and having the photo beamed across the world isn’t going to be something that’s quiet.  Something that doesn’t get attention.The texts from Downey don’t help.





	Tell Me Where to Begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwasanartist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasanartist/gifts).

> a little treat!

He’s not really aware of it, is the thing. Not until. Well. Chris knows how it looks, he’s not an idiot. Sitting on someone’s lap, anyone’s lap, and having the photo beamed across the world isn’t going to be something that’s quiet. Something that doesn’t get attention.

The texts from Downey don’t help.

_So it’s not just me, you’re here for all older men?_

and

_Why didn’t you ever sit on my lap during promo?_

Those aren’t the only texts he gets, but at least he’s used to the ribbing from his buddies and his siblings. The texts from Downey are. Well. They're not new, they both wind each other up at any given moment, but they feel different. As much as any texts can feel.

He’s thinking about it too much.

*

Getting back home after TIFF would be calming, if it weren’t for the metric fuck ton of work he has to do. Acting is one thing, but producing is a whole other level, and he loves it, even with the extra work that’s on his plate. New people to work with, new skills to learn, and he gets to sleep in his own bed at the end of the day. Even when that day ends at 4 in the morning.

Crawling into bed, Dodger already asleep and sprawled out across the lower half of the bed, Chris passes out, barely even remembering to set his alarm.

He’s woken up by his phone ringing, Dodger butting his head against Chris’ arm, and Chris yawns, rubbing a hand over Dodger’s face, smiling when he feels Dodger’s tail thumping against the bed.

Fumbling for his phone, he squints at the screen, a photo of Downey on set staring back at him and—.

God, he needs more sleep before dealing with this.

“Hey,” he says, answering the call. “What’s up?”

“I wake you up?”

“Yes, actually,” Chris says, coughing. “Didn’t finish shooting until 4.”

“Sorry,” Downey says, not actually sounding particularly sorry. “I can let you sleep.”

“No,” Chris says. “No, I’m good. What do you—”

“You never replied.”

Chris blanks for a moment before he realises. The texts. “Oh, I—sorry? I didn’t—”

“I’m going to be in Boston next week,” Downey interrupts. “Lunch? Dinner? Or too busy working?”

“I can make time,” Chris says, and he’d swear he can hear a smile crossing Downey’s face. “Susan coming?”

“She says we—you and I—need time,” he says, pausing for a moment. “My wife’s smart.”

“Smarter than either of us,” Chris says. “So, the lap thing—”

“Do you really want to talk about this over the phone?”

“It didn’t mean anything. Not that it should bother you if it did, I don’t know. I mean—” Chris cuts himself off and presses a hand to his forehead. “It was just a photo.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Downey says. “Look, we’ll talk about it next week.”

“Sure,” Chris says, running a hand along Dodger’s back. “I’ll even sit on your lap if you really want me to, you only have to ask.”

A laugh comes down the line and Chris is hit with a sudden longing he didn’t know was possible. The lack of sleep makes him feel hazy, indulgent, and he wants to roll over and shove his face in his pillow, his gut churning at having made Downey laugh like that. He probably would, if he weren’t absolutely sure Dodger would judge him for it.

“Hey, Evans?”

“Yeah?”

“See you next week.”

Chris makes an affirmative noise before ending the call, and he puts his phone down, looking at Dodger. “Okay,” he says, patting Dodger’s side. “We got this. We do.” Judging by the look Dodger gives him, he doesn’t sound all that convincing. "Thanks," Chris says, raising an eyebrow at Dodger. "Means a lot, bubba. Really."

He's got this. Probably.


End file.
